


Protective vs Possessive

by Livy1391



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Although I Enjoyed The Request, Emotionally Confused Mycroft and Reader, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt Mycroft, Mycroft Asking For A Divorce, Mycroft Holmes Is The Ice Man, Overprotective Mycroft, Panicked Reader, Part 2 (Maybe), Pregnant Reader, Sherlock Abducting You On Your Request, This hurt me to write, Tumblr request, ex wife reader, ice man, mentions of slight unhealthy weight loss, part three?, part two tags, soft mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livy1391/pseuds/Livy1391
Summary: Your husband was always the protective type, but sometimes he went too far when it came to security.





	1. Part One

You lied on the bed in the guest bedroom, a place in which you have been in more than the master bedroom recently, on the phone with your brother-in-law. 

His baritone voice rang through the other end, the man sitting in his flat with his legs crossed and his phone on speaker as he spoke to you. He had his hands folded, his pointer fingers resting on his lips as he listened to you speak before he did himself.

"You want me to abduct you, correct?" he asked, wanting to confirm that he heard you correctly, although he knew he had. 

You let out a bit of a sigh and nodded even though Sherlock couldn't see it. "Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do," you stated, looking up at the ceiling as you heard the footsteps of your husband begin to walk up the steps.

"Alright, I'll do it first thing tomorrow, as soon as Mycroft heads to work," Sherlock replied, clapping his hands together as if he was showing excitement. 

You smiled slightly, replying back to Sherlock quietly. "I'll see you then," you whispered as your husband's footsteps got closer. On the other end, a small sound of acknowledgement left Sherlock's lips and you hung up quickly, placing your phone off to the side and turning on the bed so that you were facing the wall opposite of the door.

A small, soft knock erupted from the door, your husband's voice, soft and low, calling in a second after. "Y/N," it was quiet, not quite a whisper but not exactly loud either. This was often his tactic after the both of you got in fights like the one you've just had not even two days ago. 

You had trusted him when he said that nobody would follow you that day, the only day you thought you'd be free from these guards, your guards. You knew the minute you stepped out of the house someone was following you anyways, and so you hadn't talked to him for the entire day and a majority of today as well.

And so, without you even giving him an answer, he opened the door carefully before stepping in. Mycroft saw you and instantly frowned as he walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, placing his hand on the side of your leg.

Your breath hitched for a moment before you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head farther away from Mycroft. You knew what he was doing, you knew it was all a game to him. You knew. 

"Y/N, please, come to the bedroom," Mycroft asked, his hand rubbing your side gently as he spoke and observed your movements.

You shook your head, not even bothering to waste your breath on the man you called a husband. You clenched your hand in a fist, all these emotions- the anger, the sadness, the guilt, the disappointment -simply bottling up inside you. You wanted to give in, you wanted to cry as you yelled at him for what seemed like the seventeenth time- and that it very well may have been -over the same damn reason.

Mycroft let out a defeated sigh and nodded to himself, knowing that he had to give you space. He pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head before patting at your leg softly and standing up. He walked towards the door, placing his hand on the handle before he spoke. "Goodnight, my love," he whispered before shutting off the light and closing the door, allowing you your space.

Your heart tightened in your chest, the thought of Mycroft sleeping in a cold and lonely bed, similar to how you were right now and how you had last night, not settling well with her. Yet, you reminded yourself about what had happened the other day when you came home and confronted him. It was like all the other times you had done it, and that was the problem. He always gave you the same excuse. It was always 'It's for your protection.' You weren't sure how much longer you could take it. You didn't need his protection, you could protect yourself, but he insisted that it was because of his job. And on more than one occasion had you yelled at him and told him to get a new job, told him you hate that he didn't think you could handle yourself. 

All he did was pinch the bridge of his nose like every other time and dismiss you as if it meant nothing. So, this time you got reinforcement, that being your brother-in-law.

•

Morning came like every other when you slept in that room, the light kiss that was placed on your temple by Mycroft only drawing out a small, downhearted breath as he stepped back and turned to walk away only after saying a soft, 'I love you.'

Hearing the door shut softly than the front door doing the same, you curled up more in your covers, finding them as a comfort for you at that moment. You even went so far as to clutch a pillow to your chest. 

You heard the car door shut with slightly more aggression then it usually had- not that it was slammed shut but it definitely had some force behind it. You blinked your eyes open, the sunlight from the window, which was slightly opened, spread around the room. 

Turning onto your back, you continued to clutch the pillow to your chest and stared at the blank ceiling. You begrudgingly got out of bed, knowing that Sherlock would be here to "abduct" you any minute. 

Making your way to your wardrobe in the master bedroom, you gathered a pair of jeans and a pale yellow top to wear before grabbing all the other small articles of clothing including a cardigan. Walking to the bathroom, you closed the door and brushed your teeth and did whatever else you wanted to do to make yourself look presentable.

Once fully changed, you observed yourself in the mirror and smiled softly nodding your head as if to say that you approved of what you were wearing, which you did.

Sherlock knew where all of the cameras in his brother's house were- which mind you was another thing you and your husband got into fights -so, he decided to text you.

'I'll be a few blocks away from the manor, don't inform Mycroft you are leaving and don't bring your phone. SH.' 

Reading the text, you sighed, knowing that if you did tell Mycroft you were leaving he'd most likely get someone to follow you instantly. So, you texted him back agreeing to the plan before placing your phone away and making your way out of the house through the unfinished basement, a place you knew had no cameras.

Once you finally reached Sherlock where you agreed to meet up, you hugged him as thanks, something which he hadn't seen coming, before walking with him to the main road to get a taxi.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for doing this," you said once you arrived at Baker Street and were walking up the steps to his flat.

The dark-haired man gave you a simple nod and a wave of his hand to assure you it was no problem. After all, he had missed seeing his sisters-in-law for more than thirty minutes without having to feel like eyes were burning in the back of his head. 

•

It was mid-afternoon, or three o'clock when Mycroft had tried to contact you to let you know he had got dinner reservations at a restaurant to make it up for the things that have happened recently. But, when no reply came back for over an hour, he grew worried. Surely, you couldn't have your phone off you for that long. Either way, he gave it another hour, and then thirty minutes, and by the time three hours had passed by with no answer, Mycroft was checking the security cameras through his phone as he put on his coat and grabbed his umbrella.

He was in his town car by the time all the footage loaded and his chauffeur was driving him home. Mycroft felt his heart seize in his chest as he saw the footage from ten twenty-nine that morning of your phone resting idly in the bed and no sign of you in any other room. 

There was no sign that you had left the house and no sign that any damage had been done, and so he wondered what had happened. When he finally had a chance to gather his thoughts, the car had stopped and he rushed out of it and into his manor. 

Mycroft called out your name, desperately hoping to hear a reply before he caved in and slumped down on a seat in the dining room, his fingers going to his brother's contact and clicking call.

•

You and John, who had come back from a grocery visit earlier on, sat on the settee and listened to Sherlock as he played the violin. 

Sherlock strummed the wrong key as he heard his phone go off. He groaned loudly before placing his violin down and grabbed his phone, answering it with an inpatient voice as he knew the only person to ever call him was Mycroft.

"Mycroft, what is it you want?" he asked, closing his eyes and slumping down into the chair as he held the phone to his ear.

You tensed, your eyes widening as you looked at the time to see that it was already six o'clock. You panicked now that you knew why Mycroft was calling and you knew it wasn't going to end well. 

"She is here with me," Sherlock replied back to whatever it was that Mycroft had asked on the other end. You hinted that it had something to do with you and you simply knew you were right, it was obvious after all.

"Of course she is safe, she has been with me all day," was another reply from Sherlock, one in which you really wish he hadn't said and it caused you to close your eyes. 

Opening them, you looked at Sherlock's face and saw the way he sat up as he began to grow slight anger towards his brother. "Well, maybe if you hadn't been so possessive she wouldn't have asked me to go and abduct her!"

You froze entirely as Sherlock yelled those words to Mycroft on the other end of the phone. You could tell by the silence that Mycroft's eyes had most likely widened before he clenched his fist and shut his eyes tightly. Not a single sound was made in the room until you heard your husband speak through the phone, his words being spoken through gritted teeth.

"She damn well be ready to defend herself if she were to really get abducted, because I may not save her right away"- he lied, he knew he was lying but in his anger he couldn't help it -"Maybe then she'll struggle and learn why I'm so possessive, as you say," were the words you heard leave your husband's lips, the same words causing your heart to sink and your breath to hitch then pick up speed increasingly again.

The call was ended and you instantly stood up from your seat, your eyes frantically looking at the two flatmates. You let out a panicked, shaky sigh before speaking in a slight stutter. 

"I-I have to go home," you declared before rushing out of 221B and not giving John or Sherlock time to even say goodbye. You hailed a cab quickly, getting into it and instructing the cabbie where to drive as your heard pounded against your chest the entire time. Your gaze was fixed on looking outside the window, your eyes darting around as you tried to process everything as quickly as you could. 

It didn't happen as fast as you like because within the next five minutes the cabbie was pulling up to the front of your house. You paid them before getting out and closing the door, watching as they drive off not so long after. 

Your hands were shaking slightly as you walked up to the door, placing your hand on the doorknob to test if it was unlocked before grabbing your key when you realized it wasn't. 

You entered the manor, shakily closing the door and turning back around to go and search for Mycroft, knowing you had some explaining to do.

Wandering through the manor, you realized he was in his office when you noticed the lights on and the sounds of shifting paper. 

You knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before simply opening it when no reply came through. You shut the door slowly and softly behind you before standing straight and facing Mycroft, who hadn't even looked at you.

His hair was tousled, a clear sign that he had been running his hands through it. A glass of whiskey was placed off to the side, a comfort drink for him that he usually had more than one glass of when he was stressed. His blazer was discarded on the back of his chair and his waistcoat had the first button undone and if it weren't for those signs their would've been none to show that he was distressed.

"Mycroft," you whispered cautiously, taking a step forward while keeping your eyes on the man before you. 

He stood up, the wooden chair scratching along the wooden floor which caused a screech. He moved away from his desk and stood in front of it, his eyes firmly locked into yours when he made eyes contact. The pale blue eyes that you used to get lost in were now only showing a storm. Not even one of emotions but a genuine storm of mixed blues and hints of grey. 

You swallowed, building up the courage to take a few steps forward and place your hands on his shoulder's when you got close enough. You could feel, through the fabric of his clothing, how cold to the touch he was- and you were sure had he not been wearing a shirt at all you'd have retracted your hand.

His eyes locked with yours and he waited for an explanation, any explanation, for why you caused him to go through such experiences today. 

"I-I'm sorry, My," you stated, using the nickname you used when you first started your relationship. When you were truly in love with one another. 

"Mycroft," he corrected firmly, not a hint of patience in his tone and you felt your heart tearing in two at that moment. 

You swallowed again before continuing. "Mycroft, I'm sorry, I just... I had to get out of the house without being followed. I had to feel free for once. Free from your men's eyes. Free from your eyes," you muttered to him, your e/c eyes looking into his blue ones as you tried to grasp at any emotion in them. But, there was none.

His face looked completely still as he replied back to you, the icy tone his voice had turned to sending a shiver down his spine. "I thought you were killed," Mycroft stated, the words leaving his tight throat. He looked down at you, his hands still resting at his sides as he observed what your next reaction was going to be.

"M-Mycroft, God, I'm s-so sorry," you whispered, your eyes pooling with tears in them as you spoke because of how still the man looked. You knew he was fazed, you knew he was hurting, but right now he wasn't showing you any signs of emotions.

"I'm sure you are," he stated harshly, turning around so that his back was to you and his eyes were focusing on the picture he had of you both on your wedding night upon his desk. 

His eyes softened for only a moment as he looked at the picture before they glazed over again. He knew what he was about to do was going to go against everything he's been trying to do which was protect you. But maybe doing this was protecting you and maybe acting the way he was, the way he truly is, was his way of making you hate him. Hate him so that he could protect you. Even go so far as to protect himself from the pain he had felt for the past few hours. The anger he felt. 

Of course, he loved you, but when he replays all these fights in his head he wonders if it's worth it, and it isn't him that's questioning it, no rather it's the Ice Man in him. Yet, when do those two rarely separate when they aren't home? And who says they ever separate fully?

And so, he folded his arms before speaking stiffly. "I think we've fought over the same matter far too many times in the past, and I know you agree, but I've decided to take some action after seven years of marriage."

Your breath catches for what you felt like was the hundredth time as you stared at his back. You brought your hands up as if you were going to place one on his shoulder and the other on his back before you heard his final sentence. The sheer words making you gasp, then freeze and lastly sob as you heard them.

"I'd like to file a divorce."


	2. Part Two

Sherlock was sat in Bart's hospital sitting room, his hands interlaced and his chin resting upon them as he waited and waited. Each second that past felt like hours, each minute felt like days. The ticking of the clock at the corner of the room was slowly driving the man crazy. 

It had only been a month and a half since you've moved into Baker Street with Sherlock and John. Every day seemed to be weighing down on you more and more. There was no more waking up to morning kisses that, Mycroft so loved to greet you with, or the smell of freshly brewed coffee. No more late-night cuddles and silent reading as you laid in his arms, smiling.

With every memory came the ghost of his touch, and with that came the guilt. You should've cherished those moments you had with him, to thank Mycroft for always ensuring your safety. Now, you couldn't even do that. The simple thought of him made you want to cry. 

Yet, you were unable to think about anybody at the moment. Not while you lied, unconscious in a hospital bed while doctors and nurses tried to determine what was wrong before finally, they did. 

However, Sherlock was still waiting, and he was still slowly going insane with impatience. He let only a second pass him before he cams his older brother, his blue eyes shut as he listened to the ringing of the phone.

On the other side of London, in an office, sat Mycroft Holmes, a government official who was just scribbling down a note on a piece of paper. The moon was shining in through the window, having just crept past a cloud that obscured some of its light. The auburn-haired man let out a little grunt into the glass of scotch he had just raised to his lips. A phone call was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Nonetheless, he grabbed the device, seeing if he recognized the number before feeling a sudden sense of shock and worry as he saw his brother's name. In a quick motion, Mycroft had placed down the scotch glass while throwing on his coat as he brought the phone up to his ear.

"Sherlock?" he said through the phone, moving around his desk to gather some things. If it wasn't an emergency then at least he'd be packed and have an excuse to head home.

Sherlock let out a small sigh as he heard his brother's voice, a sound he wasn't sure that relieved him or annoyed him. "Mycroft, come down to Bart's, Y/N's in the hospital," he stated, getting straight to the point and not wanting to waste time.

Mycroft was surprised for a moment, not because Y/N was in hospital but because he was being informed that she was. "Why am I being told this? And why am I being asked to visit her?" Mycroft asked, his tone airy and yet, somehow it sounded almost cold.

"Because this was your wife Mycroft! Because the person you once loved is now lying unconscious in a hospital room, and even I don't know what's wrong! That's why Mycroft, because if Y/N had even cracked a bit of that facade you've created, then you'd care enough to see her. God forbid she took her last breath in an hour and you weren't here to say goodbye or sorry, wouldn't you want to see her one last time?!" 

Mycroft was shocked by his brother's outburst. He'd been yelled at plenty of times before by Sherlock, however, never for such a severe reason. A moment passed before he said, "I'll be there in ten minutes," and hung up the phone.

True to his word, Mycroft arrived at the hospital ten minutes later, walking towards the waiting room where Sherlock no longer sat. The government official walked up to the front desk, asking what room you were in.

"294," the nurse said before Mycroft said a quick thank you and made his way down the hall, his umbrella gripped tightly in his hand. He held it at the center, his leather shoes loud against the tiled floor. 

He reached the room after a bit of walking, peaking through the window to spot his brother sitting at a chair beside the bed. Mycroft didn't bother looking around to see you, knocking on the door and waiting for someone to answer it. When the door was answered, Mycroft's blue eyes caught the ones of his brother who simply nodded and let him pass. 

"Is she alright?" Mycroft asked, taking a step into the room and looking over at you. He placed the umbrella off to the side of the room and took a seat once he was finished.

He hadn't seen you properly since the ordeal that took place months ago. His heart ached at the sight of your s/c skin being much paler than what it usually is. Your body was a bit skinnier than he remembered and for a moment he feared the worst.

"Has she been eating properly?" Mycroft asked his brother who remained by the door. 

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "She seems to be skipping breakfast every morning," he starts. "However, thankfully she eats her other meals."

Mycroft nodded, taking you over once more. "Did the doctors tell you what was wrong?" he inquired, his eyes never leaving your body. 

Sherlock made a small hum. He knew that this should be something told to his brother, as well as yourself, by a doctor, but he knew it'd eat his brother alive if he didn't tell him. "She's pregnant Mycroft," he paused for a moment, expecting to see a reaction from Mycroft. When he didn't he continued, "they said she had fainted due to stress. They suspect she doesn't know she's with child yet." 

All Mycroft could give in response was a weak nod before he asked his brother to leave for a moment. Sherlock obeyed Mycroft's wishes, taking a step out and moving back towards the waiting room before leaving altogether. He knew it was best to leave them both for some time.

Mycroft had leaned back against his seat, his mind seeming to bark questions at him, some that he didn't know the answers to. He looked back at you for a moment, taking in your h/c hair and familiar features. His hand was trembling as he brought it up to brush the strands of hair that cling to your face behind your ear. 

Mycroft felt guilty at that moment. Guilty for leaving you when he could have been taking care of you, holding you close and protecting you. He was angry at himself that this entire situation was caused simply because he wanted to keep you safe, and yet, of course, he was the one harming you. It was always like that. 

He'd never felt such a strong urge to hold you in his life. To whisper to you softly, letting you know that he couldn't wait to be a father and that you'd make an amazing mother. Yet, you were no longer his. He'd asked for the divorce. 

The sudden feeling of warm, soft skin brushing against his arm caused his blue eyes to snap up towards you, his hand moving to clutch at your instinctively. "Y/N," he breathed out softly.

You felt emotional seeing Mycroft beside you, but you did not cry. All you did was smile back before facing the heart rate monitor. "Mycroft, what's wrong? W-why are you here?" you asked, scared and confused. 

Mycroft tried his best to give you a reassuring smile. It was clearly forced and strained. He was about to answer you when a doctor entered the room, both heads turning to look at them.

"Ah, Mrs. Holmes-" you'd both tensed at that, but you couldn't blame the doctor. The divorce had yet to be finalized. "I'm glad to see you're awake. We've run some tests and nothing looks to be too worrisome. As a matter of fact, the cause of your fainting, although partially due to stress, is caused by pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations," the doctor explained.

Your eyes widened as you looked at Mycroft, fear written all over your face. How would this work now that you weren't with Mycroft? 

Mycroft caught onto the fear quickly and gently ran a thumb over your knuckles, trying to assure you it'd be alright. Once the doctor left the room, Mycroft turned to look into your e/c eyes. 

"Mycroft, wh-what are we going to do?" you asked, your hands trembling just as much as his are.

He took in a sharp breath for a moment, looking at you. "Y/N, I-I'd happily call off the divorce if you're willing to do the same. I... I'm not sure if I've truly ever wanted it. Ever since I've said it all I've felt was misery," he stated, his voice shaky. Mycroft's never had to say something like this. He's rarely ever let his emotions be spoken so freely. 

You'd brought your hand up to his cheek when a single tear slipped from his eye. It wasn't a tear full of sadness, it was one of anger and guilt... and of the loneliness he tried so hard to get rid of only to welcome it back with open arms. Now, all he wanted to do was take you into his arms. 

"I'd want nothing more than that, My," you whispered, and hearing the nickname- the one that used to bring him so much warmth -nearly caused Mycroft to cry more. He didn't, instead, moving to sit on the edge of your bed before taking you into his arms and adjusting himself so that he wouldn't hurt you.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of your body against his cool skin causing him to feel safe and at home. "I've missed you," he whispered, placing a kiss against your shoulder. 

"I've missed you too My," you whispered back, carefully running your fingers through his hair. "You'll make a great father," and just the thought of it caused you to smile because you knew it'd be true.

Mycroft lifted his head a bit to look into your eyes, a soft smile on his face. "And you'll be the best mother anyone could ever have, my dear," he replied, leaning down to give you a sweet, but passionate kiss against your lips. He'd only broken apart to murmur a soft, 'I love you,' before kissing you again.


End file.
